Shadows Of The Mind
by LouiseObsessed
Summary: and every night, he was confronted with Merlin. Merlin, broken. Merlin, bloodied. Merlin, unresponsive. Holding him in his arms as the life fled him and blood soaked his clothes. friendship if you avert your eyes.. probably not for long.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur couldn't remember the first dream, only the feeling it left when he awoke. He was already a young man then, 13 or 14, but the way his heart had hammered in his chest and his lungs had constricted painfully left him feeling more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. His yells had summoned a chambermaid from the corridor, and as he dismissed her, he made a decision. No one was to see him like this. It was undignified and… humiliating.

He was a future king.

That was the day he'd barred anyone from entering his room after dark without precise orders.

The dreams continued as he got older, shadows of terror haunting him at least once a month. He never sought comforts from his father, Gaius, or anyone else. And no one sought to comfort him as his cries echoed in his lonely room.

The dreams were never the same. Every time, his senses were assaulted with a new onslaught of visions, feelings, sounds. Always just as horrifying as the last and the next. And in the morning, he could never remember anything but a vague sense of who and what it had been this time.

And then there came Merlin, with the bright blue eyes and short dark hair and a kindness that set him apart from everyone Arthur had ever known. The monsters in his head seemed to subside, receding to the back of his mind.

He forgot about them most days, sometimes for days on end. Instead there was Merlin.

Merlin in a whirlwind of chatter, of flashing blue eyes, of laughter. Arthur didn't realize as it happened, as someone manoeuvred their way around the carefully built walls, blatantly and purposefully disregarding protocol and boundaries. He didn't realize as he let this man draw closer than any person before him. And, Arthur feared, any person after.

He couldn't understand how the simple servant could surpass Morgana, Gwen, everyone, people he'd known his entire life, and who knew everything about him, and reach a part of him no one else could. A part of him he hadn't even known existed.

So he couldn't help but wanting Merlin around. Having him by his side felt natural. Felt **right.** and even if the dreams hadn't stopped completely, they were forgotten in the morning as the hands roused him and the eyes danced mischievously while fond, bite-less banter bounced between them.

Then, all at once, the dreams changed completely. More vivid, longer. Realer.

And every night, he was confronted with Merlin. Merlin broken, Merlin bloodied, Merlin unresponsive. Watching as the light faded from his eyes. Feeling him go limp. Holding him in his arms as the life fled him and blood soaked his clothes.

Every night he woke, face drenched in sweat and -tears? And his heart constricted impossibly. Every single night he calmed himself, freeing himself from his prison of bedding, and fought to slow his breathing, fought to slow the irregular hammering in his chest.

Every night he fought the urge to flee his chambers, the dark shadows of his mind. Flee to somewhere inviting. Warm. Flee to Merlin. Reassure himself that the nimble hands, slight torso and lopsided smile were indeed untouched, full of life, and free of blood.

But princes don't flee. Especially not the proud Prince Arthur. And especially not to their manservant. So proud Crown Prince Arthur, instead, rose every night in a panic, soothed his heart and calmed his breathing, and receded to the seat before the fire. Forcefully awake. Painfully awake. And every morning as the sun crept over the horizon, he readied himself, waiting.

And even if he tried, he could never stop the flood of relief through his veins and even if he never thought it or acknowledged it, he knew his heart didn't truly unclench until he heard the regular, light steps he knew belonged to one and only one.


	2. Chapter 2

He tried not to let the dreams effect him while he was awake, but failed. He tried not to let his lack of sleep effect his training, his interactions with his father, his health, but failed again. He was slow in training. Still exceptional, and he still surpassed all foe, but he felt the repercussions of the movement more. In his bones. Exhausting him.

Exhausting him, but still he could not sleep a full night through. And, losing appetite, he began to pallor. Merlin started to bug him, pestering for information.

_What's wrong? You've barely eaten! Why are you looking at me like that? It's late, Arthur, go to sleep._

He began to sit and watch Arthur as he ate, only leaving, with a small smile, once he had swallowed every bite.

Arthur contented himself, while Merlin watched him eat, by watching Merlin. He disconnectedly allowed his eyes to search the hands, up the arms and to the neck, lingering there as he studied the pale skin, almost entirely covered by that damn red neckerchief. And eventually his eyes would wander their way to the jaw, the cheekbones, the eyes. The lips. And usually that was where his brain would click back into place, and he would avert his eyes tersely, swallow his last few bites, and look back to Merlin. Who would always offer a small smile, lips parted slightly, while Arthur barked orders.

Completely aware of the way Merlins eyes followed him, and the shadow of worry behind them, of fear. It was wearying. It was intriguing.

Finally, growing irritated with Merlins prodding, he sought Gaius.

"Sire." The older man greeted him formally, not looking up from his work. "Merlin isn't here right now, I'm afraid, though I'll let him know you were looking for him if you'd like."

"I'm not looking for Merlin, Gaius." Arthur spoke curtly. The other man looked up, attention sliding over to him. He continued, "I've come to seek your… medical council." He maintained a strictly formal tone.

Gaius raised an old, white, eyebrow. "What ails you, sire?"

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. He cast his eyes downwards momentarily and cleared his throat. Tried to find the right words. He'd avoided this conversation -this situation- his whole life. To say the things that needed saying. To express how weak and scared the dreams made him.

He didn't want to say it. But he knew that by not doing everything he could to end the dreams, he was only making himself weaker.

So he pulled his eyes back up to Gaius and spoke in a level voice, "Nightly terrors."

If Gaius was surprised, he didn't show us. Merely nodded and studied Arthurs pale face. "How long have you been afflicted, my lord?" He turned towards a small cabinet, opening it to reveal inside vial upon vial or shimmering liquids.

Arthur hesitated for only a moment before answering. "When I was 14, or thereabouts." Pausing, he furrowed his brow. "But lately they've been… worse." He couldn't explain, but once he'd started talking he could feel the tug to tell more. To relieve more, reveal everything. Instead, he kept his mouth firmly shut and watched as Gaius searched the cabinet, selecting a vial. Unable to believe that it was so simple. That this simple vial could be the end of it.

As Arthur reached for the vial, the white haired man paused. Then, quietly. "What plagues you, Arthur?" Looking into deep blue eyes, Arthur saw a glimmer of curiosity, concern, underneath the stout professionalism. It made him want to talk. To give in.

_Every night I see him die._

Rather than that, he smiled curtly. "They're only nightmares, Gaius."

* * *

DON'T HATE ME.  
i hate this chapter. my writing style and the words and the OOC-ness of it all i just don't know  
i'm sorry.  
the next few are better/i think/  
i love you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

The draught worked. The first night he took it, the dreams stopped. Not just his nightmares, all his dreams. He slept a full night. And then another. In the morning Merlin woke him with new zeal in his smile.

He regained strength, continued to excel in training. Allowing glances towards Merlin as he polished the dormant weaponry on the sidelines. Feeling the warmth of content at the smirk he receives in return.

Allowing glances at Merlin as he served breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Allowing glances at Merlin as he cleaned and puttered and hesitated until he felt the glances become something more like a steady, continuous gaze.

And he forces himself to stop.

It was almost a talent. Giving the glances as little thought as possible while also consciously tapering them.

He forced himself to stop and instead pick up the movements and hesitations out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a constant battle in himself, only made even more complicated by the lack of consideration. The hurricane of emotions. Things he knew he should feel.

Simple fondness. The smallest amount of appreciation. Maybe even an inkling of loyalty.

Things he did feel.

Things he didn't want to feel. Or acknowledge or say because they were just too… complicated.

All the while growing closer. Drawn in. Unable or unwilling to stop it as his manservant became his friend became his confidante.

And life went on. He drank the draught, slept. Woke to Merlin. Trained. Ate with Merlin. Talked to Merlin.

The man was by his side almost perpetually.

Routine, and nearly a month without a single dream.

But then, of course it didn't last. He started to feel a cloud of unrest hanging over his head when he woke. Started to feel just glimpses of fear as he slept, his eyelids flickering and his eyes darting beneath them.

And all at once, it was back. The terror consuming him, intensified. The sights even more horrible.

Everything was so much realer.

_He felt himself try and try._

_There was Merlin, he was right there. _

_And he tried to reach him. _

_For all of his trying, Merlin still fell._

_Merlin, he finally reached him. Finally caught him. Finally in his arms. _

_But too late. _

_As his fingers raked through thick, dark hair. Fumbled over a lanky, almost scrawny torso. Searching for something, anything._

_Looking into the eyes, so real._

_So_,_** so**__, real, as the light faded from them and the body in his arms went limp. _

_And no matter how loud he yelled or how hard he shook, he couldn't rouse him. _

_He couldn't bring him back, he was alone again, now. _

_And the agony, like a sword between his shoulder blades, was irreparable._

_There was noting left._

_Nothing but kneeling and clutching Merlins still body and shaking as his own sobs racked him._

No, that wasn't his sobs shaking him…

Merlins lifeless form slipped away and he opened his eyes, still shaking. He recognized his chambers in the dark, and the shadowed figure standing over him, horror etched into every line of his angular face.

The relief seized Arthur like nothing he had ever felt before, running warm and then cold in his blood. A strangled cry falling from his lips before it could be stopped.

And then, similarly, "_Merlin." _

The word tasted sweet in his mouth, felt like a gift.

He felt the hands, still clutching his arms, saw the eyes, heard the breathing.

He raised his hands to Merlins chest, reassuring himself. Trailing along the rest of him as he continued to look worried. His blue eyes searched Arthurs pale and sweaty face. He let Arthur take his jaw between his hands.

"Arthur," Merlin breathed. The sound was loud in the silence. "What's- why are you yelling?" The dark haired man stopped as Arthur shook his head, his hands still clutching Merlin, almost on his neck.

"I can't- Merlin, I can't- Why can't I sleep?" he felt the tears welling, fought to gain control of himself.

Merlins brow furrowed, "I don't know, Arthur."

And he couldn't control it. Merlin in front of him, the shadows weighing on him, so fresh. Exhausted and terrified, a sob escaped. And he admitted.

"I can't watch you die anymore, Merlin. I can't do it again."

And the tears fell without permission as surprise and something else flashed across Merlins face. Concern, care, confusion, tenderness.

Carefully, he sat, facing the blond-haired man, "Arthur." He breathed again.

And Arthur wished he'd stopped saying his name.

He simply liked it too much.

He let his hands fall to Merlins chest, tangled them in the fabric there. Closed his eyes and focused on the steady heartbeat under his palm. Timed his own breathing to the even rise and fall of Merlins. Waited as the terror subsided and left only exhaustion.

He understood, somewhere, that this was different, this was wrong. This was too far and the boundary lay somewhere forgotten behind them.

But fatigue clouded his mind and he lay with his hands on Merlins chest until he grew too tired and they dropped.

He barely felt as fingers intertwined with his own.

He slipped away from consciousness holding hands with his manservant.

* * *

i don't remember this being such a well of slashiness when i wrote it.  
yeah i posted twice in one night  
i felt so bad that the last chapter was so shit  
i couldn't leave you like that, darling and loyal readers.  
i hope you enjoyed.


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